


Personal Jesus

by froggy (therealfroggy)



Series: The Pornish Adventures of Tabruzzi [1]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 21:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/froggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Theodore are living it up after having parted from the others at the end of <em>Encore</em>. But John has his inner demons, and sometimes he needs the old T-Bag back to help him deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Jesus

There were many things John Abruzzi missed at night when he was about to go to sleep.

He missed his wife, his children, his comfortable house, his money and his power. He missed the security of having three armed men around him whenever he was out on business, and he missed his grey SUV (the black ones looked too government). He missed eating Italian food and he missed drinking red wine to go with it.

But most of all, he missed the feeling of calmness in his soul. He missed not feeling sorry for his actions. He missed not worrying about how much he'd hurt his family.

And he missed the absence of the feelings replacing the calmness. Guilt, shame and relief alternately struggled for dominance whenever his mind had too much time to work, and sometimes it got so bad he wondered how he could ever forgive himself.

But while he missed all these things, he also had the one thing that made up for it. He had Theodore Bagwell, mind and body.

And Theodore helped him forgive himself. Helped him fall asleep at night, helped him breathe and crawl out of the tent every morning without running for the nearest payphone to call his wife.

Not, of course, like most people would have helped. Theodore never talked to John about it; never told him that his heart had made the right choice, never hugged him and said it would be okay. Theodore was never kind and gentle like that, and John didn't need him to be. Didn't want him to be.

Theodore helped him pay the penance for his sins. Theodore let him make something up to himself, and if that didn't work, then the Alabamian would take the guilt out of John's flesh himself.

The latter was a rare occurrence. Most of the time, Theodore got to his knees and sucked John off, reminding him why he'd had sex with the man in the first place. Or begged John to fuck him, proving beyond a doubt that John would never come as hard with his wife as he did with Theodore. Perhaps, if the doubt was strong in John's mind, the taller man would need hours of company; friendly banter and non-consequential conversations to make him realize that he needed to be with Theodore. That he craved it.

But if all else failed...

“Theodore,” John said, so softly the smaller man was unsure if he'd actually heard that particular tone of voice or imagined it.

“Please.”

And when John said please, Theodore knew there was only one thing he could do.

He backhanded John hard across the face. The older man winced a little at the pain, but didn't move. His eyes caught Theodore's, and they were full of pleading.

“On your knees,” Theodore's voice commanded. John obeyed, getting to his knees and bending over.

Theodore wasn't hard yet, but he stroked himself lazily and watched John where he was on his hands and knees, every inch of him bared and exposed to the smaller man. “Ya know this gonna hurt, John.”

And Theodore never mentioned it, because it would probably ruin John's idea of this, but seeing the mobster like that turned him on beyond reason. Bent over, weak, determinedly awaiting his punishment for all his sins. Waiting for Theodore to give him redemption.

And Theodore was fully hard by now, and he gripped John's hip hard. His cock was positioned to thrust, hard, into the other man. “Gonna hurt like hell.”

John _whimpered_ when the head of Theodore's cock breached him, but his fists clenched in the sleeping bag beneath him and he accepted every inch of hard flesh. Soon the Alabamian was thrusting hard into the unprepared body, skin burning and stretching until John was sure he'd torn something.

He probably had, and the wave of gratitude towards Theodore surprised him.

“John,” the other man moaned, pounding into him. “John!”

But John didn't answer; he bit his lip and took it all, every blast of pain, every hard thrust, because he was paying the price for his sins. And Theodore was punishing him.

The smaller man was panting now; his hips slapping against the other man's and his body convulsing with pleasure. He was so close, almost there...

“Beg,” Theodore demanded, yet it sounded like a plea of its own.

“Forgive me,” John moaned; the pain was subsiding but still strong. “Please.”

“John,” Theodore gasped, coming hard inside the mobster. “You are... forgiven.” He pulled out.

John Abruzzi let out a shuddering breath as he felt Theodore's come seep out of him, running down his thighs. The smaller man would never push deep inside when he came like that.

“Please.”

“You are forgiven,” Theodore repeated, a warm hand ghosting over John's back.

John was still hard, still hurting from the rough treatment, and he was going to accept both conditions until they wore off by themselves. He was still paying a penance.

But Theodore had other ideas. He usually let the taller man punish himself, aided him, even, but this time he grasped John's erection and stroked slowly. “I said, you are forgiven.”

John drew a sharp breath, sitting back on his heels, as the Alabamian kept stroking him. “Theodore...”

“I am your salvation right now, John,” Theodore said angrily, and for a moment the name T-Bag flashed in John's mind. “I said, you are forgiven. Now accept it. Accept my forgiveness.”

John wanted to so badly; he wanted to come in Theodore's hand and forget all his sins and his transgressions. Let it leave his body along with his come. “Please!”

“Yes,” Theodore hissed, teeth finding the taller man's neck. “Accept it.”

John felt his orgasm rushing in, felt himself tighten and reach for the edge...

“Forgive me,” John growled, coming in the murderer's hand. White heat coated Theodore's hand, shot onto the tent wall, spattered the sleeping bag. The mobster groaned and sagged, feeling insistent teeth nibble harshly at his throat.

“I am your redemption, John,” Theodore purred, licking the salty taste of sweat off John's skin. “And ya know I'm a forgiver.”

John nodded, eyes closed, relief seeping through him. He knew Theodore would forgive him anything. Everything.


End file.
